Even if you prove me wrong, I will never agree with you
by CarolineWrites
Summary: A one-shot as written based on the prompt "Even if you prove me wrong, I will never agree with you." É/E. Contains violence and mentions of abuse. Rated T. Modern AU.


_Even if you prove me wrong I will never agree with you._

**AN: Hi, so this is my first Les Misérables story. The prompt is as written above. This is obviously a one-shot, because trying to make me write a story that's longer than a one-shot is pretty much impossible. (And I want to be an author. Yeah, that's gonna happen.) Hope you all enjoy, and please review. Perhaps there'll be more in the future.**

**Disclaimer: I am in fact not Victor Hugo, so it goes without saying that Les Misérables and the characters are not mine.**

The pair of them were the most stubborn people on earth. No matter what the argument was about, neither would ever admit defeat nor change their mind. Such as that time when Éponine had sworn that washing Enjolras' white boxers with her blue shirt wouldn't make the boxers discoloured. ("I swear I didn't know, Enj! It's never happened before; there must have been something wrong with yours.") Or that time that Enjolras had sworn that the movie started at eight, while Éponine was certain that it had said seven thirty in the paper, and thus when they arrived, running in to escape the pouring rain, they were greeted by "I'm sorry, that movie has already begun playing." ("I told you so, Enj." "Shut up.")

Then there were the more serious discussions.

"My dad's bad news, you'll get yourself beaten into a pulp!" Éponine had screamed, loud over the pouring rain bouncing on the windows of the flat, the rhythmical sound usually quite calming.

Enjolras was stubborn, though. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, 'Ponine. He raised you; he can't be all that bad." It made sense in that sense, perhaps. Someone as wonderful and sweet and lovely as Éponine could not possibly have a father who stole and murdered.

"Trust me, Enj. You've never met him, but he used to hit me. Look," and she'd pushed up her sleeve, revealing a burn mark the size and shape of a cigarette butt. "I was his own personal ash tray." A shrug of her arm, and the sleeve of her sweater covered the hideous burn again.

* * *

Of course, despite her warnings, Enjolras did not listen. He went there, confronted Thénardier and told him how he felt about his daughter. That alone had earned him a fist to the face and a broken nose to boost. When he persisted, to tell him that he wanted to marry Éponine, the gleaming silver blade of a knife had found his abdomen. It had been pulled out, and Enjolras had been pushed down the stairs.

No one found him for several hours. Luck had it; a young girl in one of the other apartments in the building saw him and used his phone to call for an ambulance. She'd run of shortly after telling them to get to the landing between the second and third floor.

Éponine had freaked out when the ambulance personnel had phoned her up at work. Her hand had dropped the large sack of coffee beans, the contents spilling out over the floor. Despite the shouts from her boss, Éponine had ignored the mess. Throwing her apron on the counter before grabbing her jacket from the coat hanger by the door, Éponine sprinted out, already dialling Grantaire's number so that he could drive her to the hospital. ("Can't you just get your driver's license, 'Ponine?" "Why would I do that, when I've got my own private chauffeur?")

* * *

He was out of surgery. According to the doctor, whom Éponine listened to only half-heartedly, Enjolras had lost a lot of blood and would need to remain in for observation for a few days. "But he'll be okay? He'll live?" (So that she could kill him for not listening to her.) "Yes, yes, he'll be perfectly find, no need to worry."

Éponine hadn't bothered to try to care what the doctor said after that. Instead she pushed her way past him, into Enjolras' room, where he laid, connected up to the various machines with a frown on his face.

"What. Did. I. Tell. You?"

She didn't give him the time to answer. Throwing her arms around him, burrowing her face into his soft golden curls, she sighed as his strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she muttered into his curls, again and again and again, as he whispered "I love you," against her collarbone.

They finally pulled away from each other after several minutes, Enjolras moving to give her space to lie down next to him on the bed. His arms wrapped around her, her head tucked under his chin as she pillowed it on his chest. That was how they remained for a long while, before Éponine finally spoke.

"Told you so."

"Hmm?"

"I told you so. That he would beat you into a pulp."

Enjolras only gave a noncommittal sound. Even if she proved him wrong, he would never agree with her.

**AN: So, what did you think? I know it's super short (trust me, I am painfully aware of that), but any and all comments are welcome.**


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